Alien Storm by A. G. Taylor

“It seems as if one of the Special Forces team members has been injured.”
    Alex recognized the cop he’d shot, still unconscious on the stretcher.
    The reporter looked back at the camera. “We don’t know if the criminals are still inside the bank, but clearly they’re not afraid to use violence to evade capture.”
    Alex had heard enough. With a shake of his head, he raised the remote to turn off the TV…
    â€œWait, Alex!” the reporter on the screen said urgently. “ You should keep watching— …the start of a city-wide manhunt for any of the robbers who might have escaped…”
    Alex froze with his finger over the off button. Slowly, he leaned towards the screen, feeling more than a little stupid as he watched the reporter continue the story as normal.
    â€œDid you just speak to me?” he asked finally. Immediately, the screen flickered and crackled, making him jump back in surprise. The picture went to static for a split second before being replaced by a new image: a desert of snow that seemed to stretch on for ever. In the distance a skyscraper rose into the sky – out of place in the icy expanse. Shaking his head, Alex pressed the channel up button a few times, but every side seemed to be showing the same programme now. He lowered the remote as a tall, thin figure walked out of the snowscape towards the camera: a man in a dark suit that made him look like a silhouette against the glaring brightness of his surroundings. As he came closer to the screen, Alex could see his hair was pure white, although he only looked about as old as his uncle, perhaps in his early forties. The man stopped and smiled at the camera. Alex had the strangest feeling he was looking directly at him.
    â€œHello,” the man said, “my name is Nikolai Makarov. If it’s easier for you, feel free to call me Nicholas. It’s so nice to finally get a chance to speak to you alone, Alex.” His accent was Russian, but his English was perfect.
    Alex sat back on the sofa and was silent for a moment. This had to be some kind of trick – a joke thought up by his uncle and his mates to make him look stupid. They loved to play their games. But the man on the screen – Nikolai Makarov – shook his head.
    â€œCome, come, Alex,” he said, as if reading his thoughts, “you know your uncle doesn’t have the brains to set something like this up. In fact, he’s busy selling you out as we speak. Take a look.”
    Makarov snapped his long fingers and the TV image abruptly changed to a shot of what looked like an interrogation room from a cop show. Uncle Pete sat at a metal table nervously smoking a cigarette while a suited man with a badge on his belt paced before him.
    â€œIt was the kid!” Pete whined. “I tell you, my nephew got these freak powers since he was exposed to that virus. Always sneaking around, all invisible like. He made me drive him to the bank – just ask Stella. He said he’d hurt us with some kind of mind control if we didn’t help him rob the place!”
    Alex stood abruptly and pointed at the screen. “Hey! He’s making that up!”
    The image snapped back to Makarov and the ice desert. He nodded sympathetically. “One of his so-called friends tipped off the police and they picked him up trying to escape the city. He’s already given you up, Alex. In about three minutes the cops will be banging down the door of the house in which you’re standing.”
    Alex shook his head. “How did you get those pictures of him? This must be…”
    â€œSome kind of trick?” Nikolai Makarov finished for him with a wry smile. “Not possible? Please, Alex, I would expect someone who can make himself invisible to be a little more open-minded about such things.”
    â€œThen you’re…”
    â€œLike you,” the man on the screen finished for him once again. “Your